


Nostalgia is a Very Human Trait

by whosyourmaster



Series: Understanding Deviancy [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bonding, Connor learns something, Depressed Hank Anderson, Emotions, Eye Trauma, Family, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Feels, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Memories, Mentioned Cole Anderson, Nostalgia, Sweet Emotions Challenge, bringing back my childhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 06:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15966731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whosyourmaster/pseuds/whosyourmaster
Summary: While digging through the attic, Connor accidentally digs up some good and bad memories for Hank.





	Nostalgia is a Very Human Trait

There was a heavy pressure upon his chest. Hot like a furnace and dense as smog. That was the first thing Connor noticed as he came out of recharge mode. Second, was that his charging cord was bent, heating up and stabbing in his side uncomfortably. His processor was running on delay, basic thoughts rolled in slow making him feel like he was in a haze, unable to feel anything but that pressure. Suddenly electricity started to filter to his muscles, making his limbs spasm in a way that didn’t hurt but scared him. Escalating his heart rate causing a throb behind his eyes, with a groan he flexed one finger at a time trying to return feeling to them. The mass on his chest started to shift as a large hot and wet nose slotted between his shoulder and neck.

Slowly his audio processor started to reboot, steadily the noise of deep huffs filling his left ear. Underneath that was the deep sound of a great heart beating and the quiet chattering of some character on tv. The pulsing in his head was slowly dulling, but everything felt tight. Raising a hand, he rubbed it over his synthetic skin, pushing his palms deep into his tired eyes. A great boof shook his entire core, the sound banging right in his ear. With a tired laugh, he wrapped his arms around the great lug, digging his fingers into the fur. “You big baby,” He said, burying his face into the great slobbering monstrosity on him. “It’s time to get up Sumo.”

The great lug on him contented itself with thumping his tail against Connor’s leg and settling himself, guaranteeing he covers more of his new personal automated pillow. Connor scratched the back of Sumo’s ears as he slowly debuted his ocular units. The dim light from shuttered windows started to come into focus, illuminating the great furry back that became his second blanket. A wet puddle started to form at the back of his left ear, growing to dampen his hair. He started to wiggle his legs, flexing his knees up and down, dislodging them from under the Saint Bernard.

“Sumo,” He whined dragging out the end of the dog's name. “I gotta get up.” The dog fully ignored him, starting to snore deeply, clearly unconcerned with his pillows plight. Syncing the losing battle, Connor opted to just wiggle and squirm his way out from under his animal blanket and the couch. Sumo continued to sleep as he managed to slip his right arm and leg out from under him. Using the new leverage he pushed against the base of the couch, slowly freeing his torso from the 250 pounds he was buried under.

Suddenly his bag hit the ground, knocking the breath out of his lungs. A sharp piercing jab exploded from his back as he landed on the charging port. Lazily Sumo raised his head, looking down at Connor from the couch, with a look the said what did you expect. Groaning he rolled to his side, massaging around the bruising charging port, slowly pulling out the plug. With a pop, the three-pronged plug let go, dropping the floor with a thud, as his synthetic skin covered up the port.

Checking his internal clock he found it was 5:45 pm, The Lieutenant wouldn’t be home for another hour at least. Standing up he collected the charging cord, wrapping it around his forearm to make a tight coil. After tossing it into the coffee table drawer, Connor stretched his muscles. The colors off the tv sharply changed as the commercial break took to air. The volume increased as images of costumed kids flashed across the screen, spasticity interspersed with images of skeletons, bats, candy bars and pumpkins. All of it culminating in a series of shots of children aggressively dragging adults into a store as HALLOWEEN SALE splashed across the screen.

Halloween, a holiday Connor had only experienced once, when Hank and he had been on patrol. It was a hard night, most holidays are, but Connor remembers seeing happy kids running around and mildly scary iconography in between them handling emergencies. Connor had never heard Hank talk about Halloween. On patrol, he seemed to hold no real disdain for it, but Connor did notice the long stares the Lieutenant gave when smiling kids ran past. Given his love of heavy metal and dark imagery, it seemed like a holiday he would adore. However, there were there were no decorations to mark the occasion last year, though his neighborhood location and demographics indicated a large child population that would be looking for candy every 31st.

Connor had never celebrated a holiday before. Even Hank’s birthday was nothing more than a small cake, thanks to the help of the Jerries, and a few embarrassed grumbles from the old grouch as he blew out the candles. Watching as the images flashed past, Connor wanted to celebrate. Everyone looked happy and excited and it was with family. He wanted that. To do that. To give that to Hank. He could feel his LED heat up as he committed the images of fake spider webs, little witches, foiled covered candies and smiling pumpkins to memory.

Turning off the Tv, Connor pivoted to head towards the attic. In the hallway, in front of the bathroom was the hatch. Popping it open, Connor dislodged the ladder bringing it to the ground. It creaked under his weight as he went up into the dark storage area. The air was thick with dust and smelled of trapped summer air. Scanning the space, Connor found the string to the incandescent light to the right of him. The dim light filled the space, illuminating the cotton candy pink of insulation and the dust the coated almost every surface. Propped along the wooden beams were an assortment of random plastic and cardboard boxes. None of them labeled.

Minding his steps, making sure to only stand on the wooden beams and not fall through the insulation, Connor walked deeper into the attic. Coming to the first large stack of boxes he pulled off the lid. An assortment of ornaments was neatly packaged, delicate glass ones wrapped in tissue paper and a box of wire hangers tucked in the corner. They were well cared for, but covered in dust. Waving away the dust, he replaced the lid before gently moving the box off the side. Underneath were three boxes all full of Christmas decorations like tree skirts, pillows, stockings, and string lights.

The next handfuls of boxes were random nick nacks from random holidays that Connor had honestly never seen. Hank wasn’t much of a celebratory man so it was odd to even find these items in the man's house. An odd collection of wooden nutcrackers, pastel Easter eggs and a whole box of plastic covered comics were among some of the interesting finds. Fifty-five minutes and Connor had searched through about half the boxes, even taking time to organize them by holiday distinction. Clapping the dust off his palms he turned to the last large stack of boxes in the furthest corner.

Pulling back the lid the first thing he noticed was none of the items were coated in dust, in fact, the box was the best condition compared to the rest. On top was a periwinkle cotton blanket, lined in silk, slightly faded yet not a single hole in it. It was soft and rolled through his fingers comfortingly. With gentle hands, Connor picked up the blanket, placing it on the lid of the box by his feet. Beneath was a stuffed animal dog with large floppy ears and shiny black eyes. Connor smiled, softly squishing the plush, running his thumb over the ears. Noticing a smudge near the back, Connor flipped the toy over to look at the tag. Written in sharpie was a messy childish signature, Cole.

Holding his breath, Connor stared at the toy, his processor crackled trying to understand what he was experiencing. He felt uncomfortable like his skin was too tight on his body and that he was being spied on from the shadows. Shifting from side to side he lightened his hold on the dog, afraid he might ruin it. It suddenly felt fragile in his hands, something sacred that just by looking at he was spoiling. He should put it away. He should put the toy back with the blanket and tuck the box away like he never even knew it existed.

He noticed several other interesting items, Connor felt the spark of curiosity race through his processor. It was a continuous repetitive buzz in his head, tickling at his sense till he gave in and did what he shouldn't want to do. His fingers twitched around the stuffed animal, rubbing around the ear. The softly ribbed fabric tickled at his nerve endings leaving him feeling warm and comforted. It left him wanting to rub the toys ears across his face, to hide inside that soft feeling for the rest of the day. Pressing it close to his chest with one arm, he bent forward inspecting the rest of the box.

Piled on top where actual books. There were seven of them growing progressively thickness, all collected together in a box set. Hardcovers with thick pages and a musty smell. The dust covers looked well worn, slightly yellowed around the edges. Folds along the spine spoke to it being lovingly handled repeatedly. Connor ran his fingers over the embossed titles, stamped into the spine, all featuring the same name; Harry Potter.

Not even a full second was needed to find information on the series, considering the digital books were never out of print and film sequels were still having theatrical releases. Though there seemed to be old enough to form the initial printing. Connor let out a snort of laughter. Imaging Hank, surly, gruff and probably having a beard since he was ten reading such imaginative and colorful books, brought a smile to his lips. From downstairs he heard the door open and close with a slam. Barking and the clattering of nails on the hardwood was Sumo rushed to the entryway. “Sumo! Sumo down!” Hank half-heartedly commanded as the rubbed at Sumo’s hand, making his dog tags clink around. “Yes, hello boy. Connor? Connor, I’m home. Where are you?”

“Up here, Hank,” Connor informed the Lieutenant. His heavy tread got louder as Hank rounded the corner to the hallway. Bending over, Connor snatched up the baby blanket and quickly tried to put it back in the box along with the stuffed animal. The ladder groaned under Hank’s weight as he climbed up into the dusty attic. “What the ever living hell are you doing up here?” “I was looking for some Halloween decorations,” Connor replied as he tried to snap the plastic lid closed. Hank’s silver head started to peak through the floor entrance as he climbed the ladder. The warping, due to years up in the sweltering attic, made the lid stubborn to snap shut. “Wrong place kid. That’s in the gara--”

Connor heard Hank’s intake of breath, whipping his head around, his scan revealing an anomaly in his heartbeat. Not even fully in the attic, Hank had a tense jawed look as he stared on from the ladder. The lid clattered to the floor as Connor turned to face the Lieutenant. Hank looked old, absolutely aged. The dust felt thick in the air, making it almost viscus in his attempts to breathe, as it danced between the two men. For fifteen seconds neither of them moved a muscle. They stood, evaluated each other, analyzed themselves, measured what they wanted to do next. Hank’s eyes were bloodshot, a little glazed even, as they bounced from Connor to the box, to the lid, to the dog toy that just hung slightly over the edge.

Quickly Connor bent down, picking up the black plastic lid with shaking hands.“I’m... I’m sorry Hank.” His voice sounded tinny, coming from a fried vocal processor into a can and then played back to his audio processors. Refusing to look at the man he returned to standing, gently collecting the dog and rearranging it to close the box. The silence was a thick as the dust. Coating his hearing like Molasses. Oppressive in its nothingness. “I was just looking around, for some Halloween decorations and I thought... and--”

“You thought that a box with blankets and stuffed animals was fucking Halloween decorations?” There wasn’t even anger in his voice. That was almost worse, so devoid of emotion, from a man so full of it that it always exploded forth. It was bare and logical and damning. “No. I just... got... curious.” Connor said lamely. His fingers grasped at the lower hem of his DPD sweatshirt, old and worn out form dozens of washes, the fibers tickled the edges of his senses. Hank’s knuckles turned white as they gripped at his side, “It’s nothing but a bunch of junk.”

Connor froze at that, lid almost closed but still tightly gripped in his hands. A single corduroy ear of the dog stuck out, vibrant and well loved. Turning his back to Hank, he re-lifted the lid to gently rearrange the dog doll. “Is it?”Connor nearly whispered in how soft he asked, “All of it seems incredibly well cared for.” The dog's glossy black eyes twinkled in the limited light, he could just barely make out the fish-eyed reflection. “It’s still just old stuff.” Hank's voice was louder now, as he walked closer to Connor. He still didn’t sound like anything. No emotion that Connor could identify, nothing for him to work off of, to respond too. He couldn't put the dog down. It was soft and comforting and the only warm thing he felt at this moment. “But...”  
“You care that much to see all the stuff?” Hank queried with a great sigh. In the reflection, he could just make out the warped form of Hank over his shoulder. “Yes,” Connor finally said. Silence settled in between them. Connor felt his LED whirl at his temple as he refused to look away from the toy. He was confused and scared and none of his processors could tell him why Hank was being so quiet. Hank was acting differently than usual. Nothing in their past experiences ever hinted at such a behavior. Connor couldn’t guess what Hank wanted. All he knew is he wanted to look at the box. His processors were edging on the desire to dig through the rest of box.

Suddenly Hank pivoted and his heels heading for the ladder. It groaned under his weight as he designed. Right before his head disappeared under the floor he stopped. “Grab the box, might as well talk somewhere more comfortable.”

He was gone when Connor whipped around. Below he could hear Sumos heavy steps as he happily trotted around Hank’s legs. The sound of clanking in the kitchen, Sumos soft woofing, as Hank prepared his dinner filled the silence. Connor couldn’t bring himself to move for a minute and fifteen seconds. Hearing the microwave door slam he quickly grabbed the black bin and began to leave the attic.

The living room was dark with the lights off, the sun setting outside, only illuminated by the kitchen's lighting. Placing the box gently on the table, Connor took a seat on the couch. Sitting ram rode straight, hands in his lap, nervously messing with a small hole in the hemming, Connor refused to look at anything than the blank screen of the TV. Sumo’s collar tinkled as Hank rubbed his great head, saying nothing as his dinner buzzed away in the microwave.

“Well... you going to actually look at it?” Hank asked, the couch groaning as he sank down with his dinner. The loud sloppy sound of Sumo devouring his wet dog food with gusto. The tense lines of his shoulders belied Hanks attempt to seem less than invested in the subject. Connor flicked his eyes between Hank and the box, “It felt rude to do it without.... you... without....” His voice was quiet, nearly a gasping of sound and stuttered. “Really Connor?”

His synthetic inhale rattled in his throat. “I just meant... since you told me to bring it down.” He was just trying to be considerate. Yes, he probably shouldn't have let his curiosity get to him before and look in the box, but he was trying to do it right now. The box felt imposing now though, with Hank overlooking with indiscernible features. The older man tried to keep his eyes on his dinner, only giving fleeting glances to Connor on his left. He wasn't sure what Hank saw, but it was probably his hunched shoulders swamped in an old coffee-stained gray hoodie.

Taking a moment to loudly swallow his meal, with a slightly warmer tone he said, “Hey, hey kid. It is fine.” A large hand patted his shoulder, jostling him. “This box seems very precious. It had no dust... unlike the others.” Connor explained, nervously rubbing his hands across his denim covered thighs. “Mmm.... yeah, I was looking in it a week ago,” Hank admitted between large bits of spaghetti and mushroom. “...What is it?”  
“Just books and movies.” Quickly Connor scanned the shelves bracketing the tv, there was at least 23% available space for any movies and Connor knew that Hank’s bookshelf was sparse, to say the least. “Oh. Why don’t you have them down here?”

Hank gave a great sigh, one that made his chest collapse and his spin bend in half. “They were special.” Hank had a tendency to hedge towards vague the more uncomfortable he became, on subjects that toed at the fringes of his depression. Connor made note, to tread carefully. He was used to Hank’s anger, they had been working together on Hank’s anger ever since Connor moved in. His Depression though, that was another beast. Something they both saw but Hank never named. Something that drove Connor to spend hours searching the internet on his breaks for advice. Something that had, in the beginning, Connor and Hank go toe to toe over booze on a regular basis. Something that made Connor question his desire to pry into the box, “Oh.”

“... They were... They were things I wanted to share... with Cole.” Connor snapped his head up, his hair falling into his eyes at the sudden move. Hank kept chewing his meal, the click of the silver fork against the glass, refusing to meet Connor’s eyes. He kept the older man in his view until Sumo, with a loud huff, flopped down on top of his feet. Feet suddenly encompassed in heat, Connor bent down to run his fingers through the long fur. Connor held his tongue, distracting himself with Sumo’s recently washed hair.  
  
Cole had at this point only been brought up a half dozen time, most when Hank was in a drunken haze those early days of Connor living with him. There was only one framed picture of the little boy, placed beside Hank’s bed. Every mention of Cole left Connor with nothing to say, using his name alone made Connor feel like he was intruding. Now more than ever. These were meant for Hank and his son, Connor shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be beside Hank like he is his son. Shouldn’t be looking at the box. Shouldn’t have held the beloved toy of an even more beloved little boy.

Dropping the glass Tupperware onto the table with a loud thunk, Hank cleaned his hands across his jeans, before pulling the box closer to him. “These are all things I liked as a kid.” He said in his normally gruff tone, removing the folded blanket. Placing it across his lap he began pulling out the collection of books and movies. Aged and rough, his finger pads scraped across the book covers, movie gases, and game boxes, pinning each item with a sad look, before laying them out on the coffee table.

Connor sat, spine straight, silently observing as Hank laid out a large a DVD set of movies with colorful cartoon characters on it. Hank had a small smile as he scanned over all the covers with a fond eye. “I loved all of these,” He said finally emptying the box of all its content “I saved them, knowing I’d want to share them with my kids.” Connor watched, the sad tilt of his brows, his small smile and a watery look to his eyes left Connor confused. His scans were not helping him decipher how the man was feeling. His heart rate was slightly raised like when he is excited, his saline levels were up like he was about to cry and his dopamine was up. All the analysis gave Connor no one emotion to pinpoint.

Suddenly Hank let out a great singular laugh, suddenly reaching out to pick up a DVD trio. “Okay, so look at these. A tv show from the fucking 70s or something. Stupidly simple. Band of kids finds a ‘ghost’, pointlessly get in chase scenes than reveal that the ghost was actually the person they met in the first five minutes in a mask. Fucking formulaic, but man it was fun as a kid, and these,” Hank just went on talking, fanning out the three DVDs, each one had a comically scared cartoon, Great Dane, running away from some manner of monster. “Where the fucking best movies they ever made.” Connor ran a quick scan of the cases, made in 1998 direct-to-video with moderately positive reviews, re-released on DVD 2001. None of them were groundbreaking, yet Hank held them like a true treasure worth hundreds.

“These scared me when I was young, so I was going to wait to show him...” Hank added scanning the covers of the DVDs. “I am surprised a children's show was too scary for children,” Connor said, just wanting the conversation to keep going. Hank let out a haunting laugh, “You don’t know the 80s and 90s then, kid. Everything was a little scary then.” it was all said with a fondness that made Connor smile. Holding out a hand Hank gave him one of the cases and he read the back.

“I think they still make this show Hank,” Connor said recognizing the characters by their clothing. “I am sure they still fucking do. Shit, I could still probably sing the songs in this movie.” “It’s good? Nothing online mentions it being pivotal in the music field.” Hank gave him this mildly aghast look. Quickly Connor broke eye contact, afraid he had angered the man.

“You know, a quick scan on the internet can’t tell you everything.” Hank chastised waving the plastic casing like a gavel. “I guarantee you play this for anyone who saw it as a kid and they could still sing every word.” Quickly Hank put aside the DVDs, quietly singing ‘You hear the screeching of an owl...and it’s terror time again,’ to himself, and reached for a box set of books.

“Now these, you absolutely know them, because they fucking still are making movies,” Hank said, hefting up all seven books, lined up the spines created the image of a wide and pointed castle. The windows were warm and yellow that stood out against the deep blues and purples of the castle exterior. “Now these aren't the originals. Mom fucking threw that out when I went to college, but I bought them again as soon as I knew I’d be a dad.” Connor didn't even need to ask why it’s rare to have something so permanently change a culture. “I was like twelve or thirteen when the first one was published. The perfect age, I grew up with these characters basically.”

“Did you ever share any of these movies and books with Cole?” Connor asked, as Hank pulled out one of the paperbacks and rolling the pages under his thumb. Stopping on a random page he read the content with a pensive look. He silently read the whole page in a minute forty-five.  
“Some of them... Not this though,” He finally said, flopping the book close. “I was going to save them till he was eleven. Have him grew up with the characters like I did.” Connor smiled at that. There was a level of planning that hinted at the caring parent Hank was.

“That would be difficult to keep from him so long, considering how pivotal it is.” He said instead, pointing out the massive popularity of the decades-old tale.  
Hank gave a nod, that shook loose some of the hair he had pulled up into a bun, “Probably true, but this shit is worth it.”

“Oh! this was amazing, I use to watch this with my brother.” Hank handed over another DVD that had two men, in police swat gear and an obscene amount of guns, walking away from an explosion that absolutely would have swallowed them up. Released 2007, British dark comedy, one of three movies fondly labeled the Cornetto trilogy.

“Is this what made you want to be a cop,” Connor asked, calculating the probability of the movies influence on his career track. If he saw it when it first came out then it would only 20 years before he would be making name for himself on the Red Ice Task Force.

Hank snorted, “Comedian actually.” With a wry smile, he threw down the DVD case before bending over to pet the top of Sumo’s head. “Then I realized that I wasn’t the funniest fucking man in the room. Crushing really.” Sumo, somehow having perfect timing, let out a deep woof of appreciation.

Connor couldn’t even hide the laughed that bubbled up at that. An ugly happy snort coming up as he opened up the laugh. A bright smile light up Hanks pace, clearly proud that he managed to land a joke. Sumo sat up at the sudden energy, heaven forbid he was ever left out of the fun. Hank rewarded the good boy with a full body shaking rub. flopping his ears back and forth and he rustled Sumo’s great big head. As his laughter died down, Connor settled into the couch, leaning towards Hank and getting comfortable in this space. Getting comfortable himself, Hank throw an arm over the couch, finally letting loose the tension that had been lining his shoulders since returning home.

Looking over the table Connor couldn’t deny his desire to look at everything. To watch every movie, read every book and play every game that Hank revered as worthy of attention. He couldn’t even get himself to scan any of the synopsis files he found in his database. At that moment he wanted to be like most people, going in blind to an experience, ready to be enchanted and surprised. Whether it was ignorant hope or something else he just wanted to have something to share with Hank. Not ignorant enough to ask though. Even he knew not to press his luck. Looking at this box, meant for someone so lost and dear, should be enough. Yet why didn’t it? His heart raced and fingers tingle wanted to pick up and handle every object before him. Sat silently, petting Sumo, looking at the table weighted down in memories yet to be made. Suddenly, his hand froze.

Out of all of the color full labels and covers, one stood out for its boldness. Ever so slowly he bent forward and gently picked up a paper bound book. It wasn’t a big book but it was by far the oldest looking. The yellowing pages were almost brown at this point, even a bit of water staining on the corners. It smelled of dust rainwater and human oils soaked into the paper. There was folding along the spine that over time had worked away the dyes.

“That was Cole’s favorite.” Hank nearly whispered Connor, passing him the book, handling it so delicately. Connor inspected the cover between his hairy hands, it was simple, with a black backdrop and golden line art of snow top mountains and great big birds flying into a ruby sun. Hank’s wide thumbs peeled open the book, pages having gone stiff over the years, slipped through as he rolled the pages. With the sound of papers slapping together, Hank bent the binding slightly, to open on a page. Tucked along the seem was a laminated basketball card for the Detroit Gears circa 2031. About 1.45 centimeters along the top of the card was peeking out and was greatly discolored, bleached by the sun. The card hadn’t been touched in years. Slowly, Connor watched, as the smile melted from Hank’s face. A sudden wash of renewed sadness blanketed the room.

“This was the last thing we were reading... together.” He said scanning the text, but not really registering it. Sumo let out a low whine as Connors' hands ceased its ministrations on his furry back. His tongue felt swollen suddenly, fuzzy even, left with nothing to say even if he could. “He was an amazing reader.” The ticking of the clock always washed out his voice, it was so soft. “Most nights he was reading this to me.” Hank continued, accepting Connor’s silence as encouragement rather than the lack of communications he was suffering from. Quickly he scanned his options on what to say next, support, lament, change the subject, or make a small joke. In a sterile negotiation standpoint it would all seem to work, depending on the person, get them off guard and pliable to his suggestions. With Hank though, he would become angry, his instantaneous reaction to any emotional discomfort.

“He sounds very bright.” Connor finally said, hoping that soft support and praise would keep Hank from spiraling.

It seemed to work as one corner of his mouth quirked upwards, “Brilliant,” he admitted. “Kid could run circles around me, mentally and physically, before ten am.” Connor had to smile at that, imagining a young blonde Hank, sloshing cup of coffee in one hand, trying to corral a tiny boy running around. A house this small would easily be filled with a child’s laughter, warmly bouncing off the walls. “He wanted to be a cop as well. Though his mother and I agreed that he was far too smart for that.”

“She was convinced he would work for Cyberlife, with how much he loved... androids.” Connor turned to look Hank dead in the eyes, all that his processors could produce was ‘he did?’.

“He thought they were the fucking greatest things ever made.” Hank went on, refusing to really look at anything in particular. Eyes bouncing around the room like he was seeing the memories rather than the empty dark living room. “He had a teaching android for science and math and man... did he adored that fucking thing.” suddenly he let out a huffing laugh “We even once got in a fight because he was so damn mad that we didn't have an android to take care of him. Didn’t matter that he actually had parents who cared enough for him, ‘all the other kids had one’” Hank for half a second took on a lighter tone, mimicking a little boy. The sudden change made Connor jolt. “I don’t know... maybe he would have made a decent sci-fi writer. He loved books enough...” With that, he snapped the book shut again.

“Hank... may I ask a personal question?” Connor asked, shifting ever so closer. Normal that questions earned him a grouch of ‘nosy jackass’ from the older man. However, Hank raised a brow at him but he looked far from mad. That was a good sign. “Of course kid. Might as well since...” he just let the sentence drop, gesturing to the box.

“I am confused by you right now.” Connor started watching Hank get a bit of a hard edge at that, quickly he kept going. “In the last several minutes, you’ve expressed happiness and sadness almost simultaneously. Is there a name for this feeling?” Folding his arms Hank leaned back into the back of the couch. His hair was starting to fall out, reframing his face with the wavy gray hair. “Well... I guess you’d call it Nostalgia.” He finally said, brushing the strands back behind his ears.

With a quick scan, Connor pulled up the term.  
Nostalgia noun  
a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.

Something he didn’t have any reference too, but maybe only a single year of life wouldn’t provide the time needed to cultivate such emotions. Fascinated, Connor shifted his body around to square off with Hank, ready to glean any information he could from the man. “So you are remembering and longing for a happy memory?” He said, looking for confirmation on what his data told him. Within 3.45 seconds, Hanks' face became red and contorted into a rage.

“Of course I fucking am. I miss my boy like hell!” Sumo sat up at that, the noise so loud making him take a quick retreat to the kitchen for some quiet peace. Connor shrinks back so fast that his joins have a crunching groin “I... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to soun--” Hank interrupted him with a massive sigh, his face fell into his hands. His thumbs rubbed circles into his temples before racking his thick fingers through his hair pushing it back. “No, Connor, I know you didn’t mean any harm.” wave gray strands fell to frame his masculine stern face, hinting at how attractive Hank once was and could still be.

“Fuck... wish I had a drink.” Hank gripped With that Connor hopped up from the couch and headed for the kitchen. From his bed, Sumo opened one eye before closing it, seeing nothing garnering his attention. Opening up the fridge, Connor pulled out a soda can, before retrieving ice from the freezer. Hank liked to have 5 cubes of ice in his cup, which Connor did before pouring the can’s contents into the glassware. Returning to the living room he silently handed the man his drink, a pseudo peace offering. He couldn’t bring himself to sit back down though.

He stood there stiff, watching the clicking of ice against the glass as Hank drank the soda.  
Hank picked up the stuffed animal, the tiny dog's black eyes glittering with the light. It looked so soft and small in his hands, a perfect companion to hug to one's chest. Finally, with a clatter Hank put the glass on the coffee table, reaching for a DVD case with his free hand. It had a brightly colored cartoon cover of a father and son looking dogs striking dramatic dance poses. “Connor... would you like to watch a movie with me?” Hank asked while passing Connor the stuffed animal. He took the toy dog, slowly lowering himself down back to his seat. Bringing his feet onto the couch, knees to his chest, Connor settled in hugging the toy. His cheeks ached with how wide his smile was, “I would love too.”

____________________________________________________________________________

The sun was hot as it beat down on his neck, with no sweat glands to help cool him off, Connor did his best to ignore it as he worked. Bent over he pulled out prickly weeds around the edges of North’s vegetable garden. Others milled around taking care of the outdoor chores while the weather was still decent out to do so. Connor liked working the garden. It was a nice change of pace from the DPD, he could let his processors rest while his body tended to the repetitive task. A great time to go over his emotional states, current events he couldn't get too or simply just let his thoughts meander.

Through the floating, disjointed thoughts, a tune came to mind. The repetitive pop beat of polyphonic piano keys filtered through as he started to bob his head to it. Slowly his memory banks provided him with the few words he had stored to sing “I’ve got myself a notion... Set the world in motion, by reaching out for each other's hand,” He sang under his breath, pulling at the roots, tapping his pinky on the dirt in time with his voice. “Together's where we both belong,” His gut felt warm as he went through the song, bringing a broad smile to his face The weeds were being stubborn, digging into the dried dirt, breaking up into pieces as he tried to remove them. He had to take a spade to them so they didn’t grow back. “If we listen to each other’s hearts, We’ll find were too far apart, And maybe love is the reason why-” Suddenly a shadow absurd the sunlight he needed.

“Connor? What are you singing?” Markus asked, kneeling down beside him, a warm smile on his sun-flushed face. There was dirt smudge across the bridge of his nose. Wholly undignified for the leader of a movement but Markus, made it work. Instead of looking unkempt he somehow turned the dirt into an attractive rugged style that harkens back to more romantic ideals of muscled warriors and baser animal instincts. Without any prompting, Markus got elbow deep helping to pull out dandelions. Their shoulders brushed as they worked side by side, the soft rasping sound of fabric being oddly comforting.

“It is just a song from a movie Hank showed me,” Connor replied sharing a small smile with Markus, who was proudly showing his perfectly straight white teeth in a broad grin. “Really?” The man asked, sounding genuinely excited and interested. “Maybe you and Hank should come over for movie nights.” He offered. For the last month or so he had been making regular suggestions like this to Connor. Inviting him to community dinners and game nights. Connor couldn’t take him up on the offer every time but when he could he admitted that he felt closer to Jericho, especially Markus, in the process. “We could watch it together.” That smile, with that suggestion, made Connor’s therium pump give a little jolt. Suddenly his face felt as hot as his sun abused neck.

The weeds became instantly more interesting to look at. He keeps his eyes on the rotten plants that refused to budge. “Yeah,” He said quietly, refusing to look from his hands, avoiding what that smile did to him. “Yeah, I would like that. Hank has to pick the movie though.”


End file.
